


Toss a Coin to Your Fucksmith

by Chantress



Series: And Yet Here We Are [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Background Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, Customer service is way tougher than killing monsters in many ways, Geralt of Rivia gives no fucks what you think about him getting fucks, Jaskier's enthusiasm for promoting his favorite stuff got a little out of hand again, Mansplaining on Aisle 5, Other, POV Outsider, Sex Shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress
Summary: Jaskier's latest song is not quite as appreciated by its subject as he'd intended. (Is it ever though?)
Series: And Yet Here We Are [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614133
Comments: 24
Kudos: 225





	Toss a Coin to Your Fucksmith

**Author's Note:**

> Set after ["Sporting Wood"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22429066), and probably won't make a lot of sense unless you've read that one.

"It's just a song, Merrin," I say, rolling my eyes at my cousin. "It could be referring to anyone."  
  
"Yes, but it's _not_ ," she insists in a heated whisper, leaning closer so the customers browsing the shop can't overhear. "I know Jaskier's music as well as anyone--probably better than most people, actually--and I know _you_ , and there's no _way_ it's about anything but Geralt of Rivia getting fucked up the ass with one of your creations."  
  
Only years of practice with presenting a bland, utterly neutral expression to my customers prevents me from blushing. "I really couldn't say one way or the other."  
  
Merrin pouts. "You're no fun anymore."  
  
"Hey, I'm plenty fun," I say. "I just happen to like making money more than I like gossiping about my patrons. Even theoretical ones."  
  
"Whatever you say," she says, in a this-isn't-over tone.  
  
Trouble is, Merrin's absolutely spot on about the subject matter of _that song_. Plenty of other people know it too, or at least suspect, despite the layers of flowery euphemisms and lack of actual names in "My Lover, His Lover, And Me," and while business is better than it's been in months because of it, I'm getting awfully damn tired of being hailed on the street as "sweet Fucksmith" by total strangers.  
  
Even worse, the song's _catchy_ ; I keep finding myself humming the refrain when I'm not paying attention, to my increasing annoyance.  
  
I manage to put the whole sorry mess out of my mind for a while as I assist customers. A lot of them have come to gawp and press me for details, true, but enough of them also make purchases while they're here that I don't mind as much as I might otherwise. And having Merrin around to help out these past few weeks has been a huge boon, despite her propensity for chatter.  
  
Of course, there's always an ass or two in the mix. This latest charming fellow is opining in a pompous tone to anyone who'll stand still long enough to listen to him that _obviously_ that song must have been made up out of whole cloth, because "Witchers are _far_ too manly to get buggered." I ignore him for the most part, but not without exchanging a grimace with Merrin behind his back; if there's one thing I've learned in this business, it's that the way someone acts outside the bedroom is not necessarily an accurate indicator of what they enjoy behind closed doors.  
  
And then _he_ walks in in the middle of this speech, because of course he does. Well, _prowls_ in, more like; it's hard to imagine Geralt of Rivia doing something as ordinary as mere walking. Everyone in the shop goes silent as he strides across the room (except for Merrin, who's making some sort of high-pitched whine in the back of her throat that I honestly can't tell whether it's excitement or distress or both).  
  
His eyes never leave mine as he approaches and produces a purse, tossing it onto the counter in front of me with a telltale jingle of gold.  
  
"Best I ever had," he rumbles. His expression is almost (dare I say it?) warm.  
  
And then he's prowling back out again, sparing a glance and a low "Hmm" in passing for the hapless buggery doubter, who from the looks of it has probably just soiled himself.  
  
Everyone in the shop slowly shifts their stares from the just-closed door to me. Most of them are open-mouthed, though still silent. A dildo slips out of the hand of a young woman and falls to the floor with a clatter.  
  
"Leona, you know the policy," I tell her coolly. "If you break any of my merchandise, you're paying double for it."  
  
That seems to break the spell on the crowd in the shop, although the mood is far more subdued as they go about their business.  
  
I heft the bag of coins in my hand thoughtfully before stowing it safely in the locked chest under the counter; judging by the weight of that purse, I could probably close up my shop permanently and retire to the countryside if I wanted.  
  
Merrin clutches my arm, eyes wide. "Was that _really_ who I think it was?" she squeaks.  
  
"No, it was his horse," I say, rolling my eyes.  
  
She lets go of my arm to punch it lightly. "Be serious!" she says. "Was that in fact _the_ Geralt of Rivia, in the flesh _and_ our shop, or am I dreaming?"  
  
"First off, it's _my_ shop. And no, you probably aren't. Unless your dreams usually involve mopping piss off the floor," I add, with a significant look at the area a certain charming individual has just vacated in a remarkable hurry.  
  
"Ugh, lovely," she grumbles, but goes to fetch the mop and bucket from the back room.  
  
I remain in a pretty good mood for the rest of the afternoon, lingering bemusement and bodily fluids aside. All of the customers are suddenly far more respectful of me, and most of them make actual purchases rather than just browsing and gawking. Even catching myself whistling "My Lover, His Lover, And Me" as I close up for the night doesn't dampen my spirits any.  
  
Maybe being the Fucksmith isn't so bad as all that.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Toss a Coin to Your Fucksmith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944943) by [BabelGhoti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabelGhoti/pseuds/BabelGhoti), [carboncopies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carboncopies/pseuds/carboncopies)




End file.
